Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life

Lessons to be learn from alchohol:

Watching Sex and the City after having had a very strong Frozen Snowball (prompting The Boy to tell me that I have enough vices already) = good. You will dream of making out with Mr. Big and wake with an pleasantly irresistable urge to have wild drawn-out sex involving high heels and mirrors and the buzz will last for ages, prompting The Boss to remark that you're 'usually so serious at work, but you're much more fun like this.".

Having seemingly endless shots of Cointreau, Sambuca and tequila at the party to commemorate your iminent departure because The Boss refuses to let you not drink = very very very bad. It was all well and good while The Metrosexual was talking about his man-boobies in a ridiculous French accent ("I am ze most beautiful man, oui?") and we drunk-dialled each other while standing across the table from each other and sang Christmas carols very loudly and made up the lyrics when we didn't know them. It was also fun drunk-dialling The Boy and having everyone yell in various accents (French, Spanish, Eastern European) yell down the line. But then half an hour later after the tequila has blazed a flaming trail of aloholic destruction down your throat, you suddenly realize that your vision has blurred and your hearing is fading in and out and you can't stand and you end up merlioning viciously in the ladies, and then later, most embarrassingly, in the bushes, before collapsing in your chair moaning, it's really not so fun. And this only at five in the afternoon.

I went straight home and crashed for three hours straight and didn't even know when Topher's parents came over to pass me the package.

(TOPHER, I LOVE YOU!)

Now I'm terribly awake. I have informed The Boss, via SMS, that he is n evil, evil man. He is ignoring me.

Oh, and say hello to my new toy.





It hurts me not to have bought the PowerBook, but that's the price of being a gamer geek.